


The Journey

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Foot Massage, Lots of Touching, M/M, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22070074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: It's a wintry night but Crowley and Aziraphale are very cozy on Aziraphale's sitting room sofa...and Crowley is wearing black silk pyjamas.  Really, no plot -- just a lot of love.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 93





	The Journey

Aziraphale had a living space in the bookshop – bedroom, bath, and sitting room. In the sitting room was a green velvet sofa with wide cushions, covered with pillows and plush throws. It stood near a fireplace, which blazed steadily on this late December night, a night of snowfall. Blue damask curtains were pulled back from the window, and fluffy white flakes fluttered past in a mesmerizing rhythm.

Crowley sprawled at one end of the sofa, sitting up against two large satin pillows with one leg bent, the other straight out. He was barefoot, and wearing black silk pyjamas, the top unbuttoned and draping loosely around his bare chest.

His sunglasses lay next to a reading lamp on an end table. The lamp was useful, because against all expectations, when Aziraphale walked in carrying a tea tray, he found Crowley with a book in his hands. And it looked very much as if he were actually _reading_ it.

He set the tray on the coffee table. _What on Earth?_ He slowly took off his coat and hung it carefully in a closet. Then he sat neatly on the other end of the sofa. “I brought up some tea.”

He set about fixing two cups, knowing exactly how Crowley liked his – no milk or cream, plenty of sugar. As he proffered the cup, his arm brushed accidentally against the knee of Crowley’s bent leg.

Crowley lay the book down open-faced on his chest and reached to take the cup. He took a long drink, ran his tongue lightly over his lips, and said, “Mmm. Thanks.” Then he put the cup on the end table and picked up the book.

Aziraphale leaned back against a plush pillow, sipping his tea, quietly pondering. _He’s reading a book_. Where had he – _ah_. It must be the one Aziraphale had left on the end table yesterday. He’d been reading a collection of romantic poems. So not only was Crowley reading, he was reading _poetry_.

Would wonders never cease?

He gazed at the fire for a while, and then he watched the snowflakes drifting past the window. Crowley had been spending a great deal of time at the bookshop ever since they’d saved the world, so much time in fact that Aziraphale finally invited him to simply move in. Crowley had not accepted that offer, yet he often stayed very late, sometimes, like tonight, so late that leaving seemed pointless when he could just as easily sleep on the sofa.

Thus the black silk pyjamas.

Crowley shut the book at last. He laid it on the end table, then picked up his tea. He drank slowly, clearly savoring it.

“More?” Aziraphale reached for the tea pot.

“No. I’m good.” Crowley set his cup on the coffee table.

Aziraphale finished his own tea and snapped his fingers. All of the tea things vanished, returned to the bookshop’s kitchen.

The fire had got a bit low, so he snapped his fingers again and a new log popped onto the grate. “That’s better.”

“Cozy.” Crowley yawned and stretched his arms, then settled back down.

“Did you enjoy the poems?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Never read any poetry before.”

“Nor anything else, so you’ve told me.”

Crowley smiled softly. “No. Well, only to find things out that I needed to know – newspapers and such.”

“Are you taking up a new hobby, then?” He dearly hoped so. It would be something they could share.

“Might do. We’ll see.” Crowley shifted down a little and stretched his legs. One bare foot suddenly touched Aziraphale’s thigh.

He started at the unexpected touch. And then Crowley began kneading the thigh with his toes.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. “Crowley, my dear, what exactly are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing – playing the piano? I am expressing affection.”

“Ah. Well, it’s not your normal method.” There had certainly been more touches between them over the past few months, but only a light contact at best – a touch on the arm, a hand resting briefly on his shoulder. “Did those poems go to your head?”

The toes stopped kneading, and Aziraphale, afraid that he’d caused offense, put his hand on Crowley’s foot and gently stroked the bare skin. “Sorry. You don’t need an excuse, you know.”

“Well…” Crowley glanced at the book of poetry. “It didn’t do any harm.”

Aziraphale found his hand somehow moving farther along, sliding beneath the silk pyjamas to massage Crowley’s calf. “It’s one of my favorite books.”

“Figured as much, finding it up here, and with all those well-worn pages.” Crowley suddenly withdrew his leg, bending it towards his chest, and stretched out his other leg. “Taking turns.”

“All right.” Aziraphale rubbed the foot, caressing all sides, feeling the tendons relax beneath his touch. Then he worked up along the calf. There was a tautness in Crowley’s leg muscles which he slowly and lovingly massaged away. “Better?”

Crowley’s eyes had closed halfway. He leaned his head back against the pillows and sighed. “Yes. You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t.” He’d never done anything of the sort, yet somehow, it came naturally from some part of him deep inside that knew how to make Crowley content. “Well, perhaps I do.”

He didn’t want to stop, but Crowley pulled his leg in and sat up straighter. He moved in closer and shifted into a cross-legged position, facing Aziraphale. “Your turn.”

“What?”

“Come on, off with your shoes and socks.”

_He really is in a most amazing mood tonight._ Could this be the start of something more than loving friendship – were they heading down the road to romantic love? Not that Aziraphale was entirely clear on what that even meant for them, but this definitely felt different from light touches on the arm or a fleeting hand on his shoulder.

This felt like a movement in a new direction, one he wanted to follow with all his heart.

He bent down to take off his shoes. He pulled off the socks and tucked them neatly inside the shoes. Then he turned to face Crowley, raising his legs onto the sofa with knees bent.

He stretched out his right foot. Crowley took hold, resting it on his lap, and rubbed gently with both hands, circling slowly round, then stroking up and down.

The touch was so warm, so soft. Aziraphale closed his eyes, his breathing slowed and deepened. Crowley’s hands were so supple…so _knowing_. “Ah…”

After a time he switched legs, and thoroughly enjoyed the same knowing touch on his other foot. He might have said it felt heavenly except that he knew this was a better place than Heaven, here with his dearest friend, here in his true home, with firelight flickering, with snowfall on a winter’s night.

Crowley finished his caresses.

Aziraphale opened his eyes to find golden serpentine eyes gazing deeply at him.

“Have I ever mentioned,” Crowley said as he lay his hand on Aziraphale’s trousered calf, “that you wear far too many clothes?”

Aziraphale looked down at his vest. He fingered the buttons. He did wear a lot of clothes – he found comfort in them. Though right now, at this particular moment, they felt rather stifling.

He snapped his fingers. In an instant, his suit clothes were replaced by his favorite pair of pyjamas, ones of a light blue satin.

“Very nice.” Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale’s closest knee and stroked downward along the calf to where the material ended just above the ankle, then slid his hand beneath the satin to run it back upward, then down again. He slid his hand out.

Aziraphale sat there, holding both knees close to his chest, entranced. What next – where did they go from here? Crowley was sitting so close, he could touch his bare chest if he wished.

And oh, he did wish.

Aziraphale opened his bent legs, leaned forward, and reached his arm between the gap. He placed his hand on Crowley’s chest. He felt a tremor there, a shivering, fluttering whisper of excitation.

Crowley placed a hand on top of Aziraphale’s. “How long have you loved me, Angel?”

“Far too long.” He smiled. “That is, too long to not say it. To not be _allowed_ to say it.”

Crowley rubbed his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Heaven and Hell have a lot to answer for.” He brought Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and kissed the palm. Then he released his hold.

Aziraphale left his hand there, touching Crowley’s lips. “I do love you.” He brushed his fingers over Crowley’s right cheek, then the left. He ran his fingers along the cleft in Crowley’s chin, down to stroke his throat, then slipped his hand behind to the back of his neck, and he pulled Crowley to him as he leaned in.

Their lips met with a light touch at first, exploring ever so tentatively, as if in an unknown country, until Aziraphale knew he had thoroughly mapped every surface. He wanted more. Wherever this path was leading him, this mysterious road through foreign lands, he wished to follow, for each discovery along the way delighted beyond measure.

He pressed his lips more firmly against Crowley’s and Crowley responded, and then he opened his mouth to let Aziraphale in, and the pace of their explorations quickened. Crowley grabbed the back of Aziraphale’s head to pull him into a tighter embrace, uncoiling his legs to wrap them round the angel’s, as they tasted each other more fully.

Aziraphale broke away first, with a ragged gasp. Crowley kissed his forehead, and Aziraphale closed his eyes, lost to rapture as one touch followed another, as Crowley kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, his throat…and the hollow of his throat. He felt Crowley’s fingers unbuttoning his pyjama top – so silly to have bothered with buttons, should have left it open from the start. He waved a hand and the buttons disappeared, the top fell open, and Crowley kissed his bare chest all over, sending ripples of tingling ecstasy through his whole being.

Aziraphale opened his eyes at the same moment Crowley left off kissing his chest. They looked at each other, just _looked_ – and love flashed between them like lightning.

Crowley rested a hand on Aziraphale’s chest. “I love you, Angel.” He paused, a slight furrow between his brows. “Where do you want to go from here?”

_Terra incognita_. He sighed as he felt the tug of a distant memory. “Anywhere you want to go. Maybe even everywhere.”

Crowley smiled. “Slow…or fast?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Crowley replied with a tinge of surprise. “I really _don’t_ know. Have to just figure it out as we go.”

“Just as we’ve always done.” As with friendship, so with love. They would find their way through the wildlands.

They might stray off the path at times, they might even get lost now and then, but they would always find their way back to each other – of that, Aziraphale never doubted.

He disentangled himself and rose from the sofa. He reached to pull Crowley up as well, and said, “There’s a bedroom, you know.”

Crowley’s eyes widened ever so briefly, then he relaxed and wound his fingers around Aziraphale’s. “I do know.” He raised his eyebrows. “Does this mean that I’m moving in?”

“I’m fairly certain it does.”

Crowley looked thoughtful, and then he nodded. “Lead on, then.”

Aziraphale smiled. As he guided Crowley across the sitting room to his bedroom door, and as they crossed the threshold, he thought of all the stages he and Crowley had passed through on their long journey together – and he knew that _this_ one would be the most wondrous of them all.


End file.
